


I Sleep, I Dream

by unebarquex



Category: Little Women (2019), Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Crush, Slow Burn, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, also i kin her and im not ashamed, amy march is simply yearning, artist amy!!, hopefully you will like the writing i tried, laurie is a fool, maybe smut idk, might be magical realism involved, paris amy, richard siken yearning core, suggestive at least, this is my first time publishing so im bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unebarquex/pseuds/unebarquex
Summary: Amy March grows up with the consistency of love.
Relationships: Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	I Sleep, I Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! My summary for this work is so bad lmao.  
> I plan to keep writing chapters but since I'm busy with online school they might not come out very quickly. When I write, it's usually poetry so this is new and I wonder how I'll do developing plot and action and so on..  
> Thank you for reading:))))
> 
> \- Philomel  
> tumblr: @unebarquex

The seaside, so clear, purple dune-flowers reaching from that falling soft barely-ground. Amy’s dress, pink as conch shells, and sailor’s-valentines, her hair in braids, looped around pinker ears. It had been that way summer after summer. Sisters running through the foaming surf, Jo laughing raucously, Beth and Meg reading to each-other. That year, Laurie, Fred. The former, arm and arm with Jo, finding flat rocks to hotly throw into the golden paths of rivulets in the water, the dismal latter, clinging to the beach with shoelaces tied tightly around broad man’s feet.

  
The languid rosy shore-light shook their hands, and seemed to move Amy’s along the paper, while she gazed on Laurie’s feet. Yellow, clean with salt, and arching as they ran; under Amy’s artist’s eye, they could very well be the feet of a young Greek boy, in white sculpture, almost just like the one she had seen in his grandfather’s library, all those years ago. She thought it was lovely, lovely, lovely… forgetting her sketch and charcoal pencils she fell into the turning sand and stared, through her eyelids, into the pale oscillating of the sun.

  
It was better than watching Laurie, taunting her with his rolled up ankles. If only she could bite them. (She blushed at the scandal of such a thought,) Of course, there was also that taunting Jo March! Her laughter rang like seal barks, loud over the crashing of silvery waves, and the distant song of sea-boys, with curly weathered hair and bright forearms. She was lost in her day-dreaming when Meg gently kicked her in the side.

“Amy, my sweet, there’s sand in the folds of your new dress,” ever careful Meg, always thinking of Marmee, and papa, saving up enough for pink striped frocks and hair ribbons.

“It’s not as if sand doesn’t slip off linen,” she left her reverie, sitting up, opening her crinkled eyes to watch the unusually blue landscape, and it’s shadow black-blue dancers, playing on the stretch. She rubbed her eyes, as a child might do.

  
“Pirates have linen pants, and it’s not like they don’t roll around on beaches.”

  
“Ladies don’t roll around beaches though, and you happen to be one.” She said, a tinge more huffy than sweet. Amy tilted her head to look up into Meg’s shade of sunhat, and the vague mid-summer freckles upon her soft peach cheeks. In between the cracks of wicker, like a painted European courtesan behind her green fluttering fan, blue eyes blinked. Fred Vaughn stepped out from behind Meg, and let out his wide bronze hand. Amy smiled, and pulled herself upwards, into the world.


End file.
